All or Nothing (6 page)

Lucas had to prove how well he could see into her. He called her on every lie, whether he said anything or not. Just a flick of those deep blue eyes and she knew he’d seen through her. A quirk of his mouth and she knew he was biting back words.

As much as she hated it, that was why his rejection hurt so damn bad. If any other man ended a relationship, she shrugged it off. It wasn’t as if the guy ever meant anything; he certainly didn’t
know
anything. But when Lucas rejected her, he rejected who she really was. Every secret, protected thought. Every raw inch of her, body and soul, past and present.

She fingered the clamp on the blowtorch. Any woman who claimed she wouldn’t be hurt by that was a damn liar. The reasonable side of her—no doubt spurred on by the curious part—admitted she’d rejected him the same way for years and she’d had this coming. The least she could do was open the box.

Especially since it had the rather annoying tag on it reading: “Do not burn.”

Setting the torch down, she unfolded her legs to sit up straight at the table. With a deep breath, she pulled the sash on the cream-colored bow. It slid with a whisper until the knot came loose and fell off the corners of the box. She pushed out the breath and rushed her fingers through lifting the lid.

It flipped back behind itself, gaping open, waiting for her to look inside its six-inch depths. Nothing crawled out. No poisonous gas. No jack-in-the-box of any kind. Which meant she’d have to look in. Twisting her lip, she put her hands on either side of the box, standing to look down carefully.

“Oh, shit.”

Horrified, she began to reach in, then looked at her hands and rushed to the sink a few feet away to wash them. It probably wouldn’t help much, but she didn’t want to put lotion on and ruin it with oil. Belinda rushed back to the table in a jangle of keys and tools, carefully reached in and lifted the impossible gift.

She’d never seen anything like it. It was a fairy wing. It had to be. It shone even in the faint shadowy light of the workshop. Belinda slid it over her arm to look at the breathtaking butterflies and flowers dotting its expanse. So many sizes and shapes, each one completely different from the others. The hem scalloped into the shape of wings where they’d hang on her back if she ever wore it.

The son of a bitch had sent her a handmade wedding veil.

What the
hell
did it mean?

Her hands trembling, she made herself fold the veil as carefully into the box as it was when she found it, looking for some kind of note. All she found was the faint stamp on the back of the lid in pink reading
Lucy’s Lacery
. Evidently, Lucas saw no point in apologizing twice and the man wasn’t about to either break his knees or his jaw by even writing the word “please”.

So what was this? A proposal? Did he somehow think burned flowers and a peed-upon
Union-Tribune
on his doorstep translated into “I forgive you, you big, hulking idiot”?

She closed the box with a decisive, two-handed push, slid it back to the center of the table and sat on the chair with her knees curled up under her chin.

Options. She needed options. Her gaze found the blowtorch still on the table and she jumped up to take it to its hanging hook. People went to hell for destroying things like that, on purpose or accident. But she couldn’t accept it, either. Keeping it meant she was agreeing to forgive him—
Not in this lifetime, buddy
—and possibly even marry him.

The urge to throw up swamped her.

Even if she were going to get married, it would never be to Lucas. By the end of the first month she’d revert to her mother’s special brand of servitude: overworked, overcompensating, overplacating. God, just plain
over
. Worse, she’d probably like it.

Her mind played a movie she came up with years ago when her secret wants and desires threatened to overcome her sense. Lucas lying on a recliner, his beautiful body softened to fat that oozed over the edge of his pants. A couple of kids very close in age, playing, ignored, at his feet. A dog or three would be sleeping in front of a television that had seen better days. All the furniture in the cramped, dark place would be worn out, the walls cracked and faded, and she would be pregnant, coming out of the kitchen with a cheery smile on her obviously tired face, chiming about dinner being ready while absolutely no one noticed. Lucas would ask for a beer, tell her he wanted to watch the game. He’d eat in his chair and the kids would whine about wanting ice cream for dinner. Then the dogs would start to howl while she tried to keep a happy, perfect, Betty-Crocker grin on her face.

The vision was unfair to Lucas, she knew. He never drank much, he still ran daily—she had a few embarrassing secrets from high school about watching him from the shadows like a stalker—and he’d never owned a dog until she dumped li’l Sparky back on his porch. The kids were cute, her only concession to him, she supposed, but it was a sharp reminder what happened to the women in her family when they married. All of them ended up like her mother.

It would only be a matter of time before she did the same. Lucas had too much power in their relationship as it was. One of his frowns could make her doubt herself for weeks. One of his almost-smiles could give her a high like nothing else. And, all right, her mother may have been onto something about passion being worth a little heartache. But not
years
of it.

It couldn’t have been worth the screaming arguments that had Belinda’s siblings huddling in her bed, shivering with fear that their father would turn his anger on them again. It couldn’t be worth the nightmares still haunting her from the nights when he did. It would never be worth the dozens of scars on her body he’d inflicted.

No, this veil had to go back. It was beautiful, but it was terrifying. If Lucas hoped forgiveness meant marriage, then she’d never forgive him. Ever.

But she couldn’t leave it on his stoop like she had the flowers. If someone stole this, she’d never forgive herself. She couldn’t hand it to him, either. One look at him and she’d either kiss him or kill him. Which meant she’d need to go about this a bit more circuitously.

She looked up
Lucy’s Lacery
and grabbed her phone. The voice that answered was a perky, happy chirp. She was probably a blonde, Belinda thought with a rabid sourness. Probably blonde and cute and just Lucas’s type. She’d fit under his arm, smile all the time and make people think his grim bearing was adorable. They’d even sound good together. Lucas and Lucy Lonnigan, leaping, lacing and—

“Hello?” the woman asked again, louder.

“Oh, sorry.” Belinda shook herself. God, this was getting really out of hand. “I’m calling about a veil that was delivered this morning—”

“The Butterfly Dream? Oh, I’m so glad it arrived safely!”

“Yes, yes, it’s perfectly fine. It’s just—”

“You didn’t like it?” the woman asked, clearly shocked.

“What? No, no, it’s beautiful, I loved it. It’s just…I have to return it.” The stunned pause had Belinda chewing her lip. “Ma’am?”

There was a soft laugh. “I’m sorry, I probably heard you wrong. Did you say—”

“I need to return it.”

“Have you spoken to Mr. Lonnigan about this?”

Belinda’s ears twitched. “You’re on a name basis with him?”

“One remembers a man like that, Miss Riggs.”

“Sounds like you remember a lot,” Belinda grumbled.

The chuckle didn’t help her disposition. “Just out of curiosity, why would you want to return the veil?”

“Because it’s… I can’t accept it.”

“He seemed very adamant that you have it.”

“Lucas is always adamant. He doesn’t have any other modes.”

Another laugh. A knowing one. Belinda was getting a definite yen to rip this woman’s hair out. “I’m afraid I can’t take the veil back, miss.”

“If it’s about the money, you can refund it to Lucas.”

“Store policy is that all sales are final, but even if I could, I wouldn’t accept the veil back.”

“What? Why not?”

“That veil has hung in this store for thirty years, Miss Riggs. It was never intended to be sold. Yesterday, your Mr. Lonnigan came in and knew it was made for you. Who am I to argue?”

The goddamned owner, that’s who. “He
said
that? Made for
me
?”

“He didn’t have to.”

Belinda’s hopes—which she was pretty sure she’d never allowed to rise—plummeted.

“It was something on his face,” the lacery woman continued in a dreamy, over-romantic tone. “I get a lot of women in here: women in love, women in need and women who just want. I’ve never had a man in desperation.”

Lucas didn’t get desperate. If he did, it would not be a good sign. “I can’t keep this. He’ll take it as tantamount to an accepted marriage proposal.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt it,” the woman said dismissively.

Belinda pulled the phone from her ear to stare at it.
Was I just pooh-poohed?
“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t think he knew what it was.”

Belinda frowned, turning to give the box the same disbelieving glance she’d leveled at the phone. It didn’t take a master of the obvious to figure it out. “It’s a veil.”

“He seemed under the impression you might drape it somewhere. Like a curtain.”

Belinda closed her eyes. Her grandmother’s doilies. The lace curtains she’d inherited and didn’t have the heart not to use. The observant schmuck was paying too much attention.

“I truly believe he bought it for you, but not as a message. I got the sense he knew you would cherish it, which is the only reason I allowed him to buy it. Aside from pity, of course.”

Belinda choked. “Pity?” On
Lucas
?

“Well, the poor man seemed to have been all over the place looking for just the right thing. I’m sure if he didn’t find something soon, he was going to burst.” Lucy Lacery coughed. “Unpleasantly.”

For the first time in the conversation, Belinda laughed. Lucas in a state. It’d been a long time since she’d seen that. Probably not since he broke her arm when they first met. “I still can’t accept this, it’s too much. I can’t accept anything from him.”

“It was a gift from his heart, Miss Riggs.”

Belinda’s smile fell away. She knew it was. So were the roses. Even the loopy puppy. But she didn’t want gifts from Lucas’s heart. She didn’t want anything. Still, she couldn’t destroy the veil, either.

They both waited in silence, each hoping the other would give in. Belinda’s gaze fell on the scrap pile she was going to be cleaning up as soon as this mess was over with, the shards and shavings already swept into a little pyramid.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any scraps of your work, would you, Lucy?” she asked, gripping the phone tightly, an idea being born that might allow them all to get what they needed. “Pieces that might be similar to what this veil is made out of.”

“Of course I do, but—”

Belinda sent a glance to the clock above the bay door. Assuming Lucy closed at five, she’d have an hour to get to the store. Plenty of time. “How about you let me know exactly where you are. I’d like to buy them off you.”

Lucy sighed. She had to have a clue what this meant. She probably didn’t like it. But she relented when Belinda said it was either the scraps…or the real thing.

This would make Lucas go away.

It had to.

Chapter Five

Having a dog wasn’t so bad. He’d never particularly wanted one but there was something to be said for happy company. Kind of like Kyle, with less yapping. Carrying around stinky plastic bags tied to your pack was a little sickening, but only until the next receptacle came along. The pup was even starting to run in a straight line instead of his back end overtaking the front until the poor thing had to execute some sort of whole body roll to get facing the right way again. Plus it was hard to be mad when for the first time ever, someone was kissing him awake. It wasn’t Belinda, but at least it was genuine.

Gross, but genuine.

It was even kind of nice to be running outside again. The cold, moist air was more invigorating than temperature control and the pup made a great alarm clock. The only problem was that Lucas did his thinking while he ran. Without a problem in front of him to specifically concentrate on, he had only one other thing to think about.

Belinda, naked in her bed, glaring at him, angry enough to spear him with something dull. Belinda wearing her work overalls and a tank top with goggles and a grin. Belinda, nervous as a cat while they applied for her business loan, her fingers damn near crushing his under the lip of the desk. Belinda, when he’d come back from his first year at MIT, defiantly daring him to make some sort of comment about her shorn black hair or her morose clothes. All the way back to Belinda in her red prom dress, sitting on that swing in the twilight.

They never saw their prom party room, had no idea what the decorations were or who was there, but it was still the most memorable night of his life. Kyle went, of course. Lucas only put on his tux for his mother’s sake. He’d never asked anyone to go. He’d claimed he was meeting his date and went walking down the street. Essentially, that’s what eventually happened, but it wasn’t what he’d planned. Even in his wildest fantasies, he could never have even
hoped
for what happened.

He’d found Belinda at the park completely on accident, sitting in the swing, looking lost. All her beautiful blonde hair swept back from her face, tied up in a chignon that would have made his mother sigh. She’d been wearing red satin, a strapless gown with black accents and a simple black ribbon choker. She’d been so surprised to be caught there…by him…crying.

“My mom made the dress.” She’d plucked at her skirt when he sat in the swing next to her. From their vantage point, it was easy to see the city lights starting to flicker on, see limos arriving around the neighborhood. “I tried to tell her not to, but she said every girl deserved to go to her prom. She put a lot of work into it.”

Work Amanda Riggs was probably too tired and busy for, but she’d found time anyway. Lucas hadn’t said anything, just held out the corsage his mother had handed him before he left.

At the time, he didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with it and didn’t care what it was. But that moment, when Belinda’s eyes looked from his face to the flower box and back again, he knew he’d never be able to thank his mother enough. The white orchid with purple and burgundy and yellow dripping out of its center was cradled by baby’s breath and wide green leaves. It was probably the size of his hand and way too big for someone as slight as her, but she wanted it. She was
moved
by that flower.

She accepted the box and let him pin it on her, the first time he’d touched her skin. The first time he made her gasp with just a graze of his fingers. The first taste of what would become an addiction.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew why she had no date for prom. She’d waited for Kyle to ask her. It was the reason Lucas hadn’t asked her himself. By that time, he’d come to grips with the fact that he “liked her”—a lame kid phrase to explain what couldn’t be handled—and wasn’t prepared to be rejected by her. Their odd, tense friendship was enough for him. Until he’d touched her.

They’d stayed on the swings for a while, watching the sun set, quiet until the cars stopped driving past the small park. It was easy to be quiet together then. They were accustomed to it. Belinda was a lot for silence back then. She never talked about what went on in her home or why her parents were so rarely there. She especially wouldn’t talk about the yelling he heard late at night. But she let him see her drawings. Let him see her projects from her industrial design classes. Even Kyle didn’t get to see those.

She did finally start talking, asking him what he’d tell his inquisitive mother about his night. They’d come up with stories to tell about what they ate and music they heard. Her stories of what happened to her less-than-favorite popular kids could still make him laugh. That was when they’d decided to head to the lake deeper in the park to skip rocks. He’d taken her hand to help her walk in the heels she was unused to. He didn’t let go when they reached the lake, though. Instead he’d used that grip to pull her close and dance.

To this day, he didn’t understand the compulsion. There was no music, no thought. She just looked beautiful, her hand in his… It seemed the natural thing to do. The same way it was natural for her palm to slide between his jacket and dress shirt to hold his side and sigh when she laid her head on his shoulder. He was lost in her scent and the glow of her hair and the sound of crickets around the lake. It was just as natural for him to brush his lips against her neck. Once, twice, then a third, firmer time when she tightened her hold on him.

No one ever asked for anything. In fact, nowhere in his memory did anyone say anything at all. Those first kisses simply continued, up her neck to her jaw, when she dipped her head and found his lips with her own petal-soft ones. The kisses never stopped. Not when her tongue reached out to touch his. Not when somehow, sometime later, he lay her down on the grass near the water’s edge and stretched out above her. Their hands touched each other, pulling clothing free, unwrapping layers to the skin beneath.

Her breasts were so sensitive when he pulled the satin down over them, she moaned. He hadn’t been able to touch them enough or taste them enough. Her fingers had speared into his hair while he sucked them, her legs tight around his waist, her skirt rucked up around her hips. She’d cried out and shuddered against his mouth, gasping through her first shocking orgasm. That was when there was absolutely no going back. She’d needed, and so had he.

It wasn’t his proudest moment, his inability to be gentle when he took her, but she’d taken him just as much that first time. He slid into her, startled by the hot slickness, shattered by the wet pressure all along his length. Her long legs wound around him, pushing him deeper, past the barrier of her virginity with neither preparation nor tenderness. He’d groaned and so had she. He didn’t know if it made him a bastard that it never occurred to him to stop.

He pulled back, only to surge in again. And again. And again.

When she pushed her hips back against him, he grew wild. He slid his arms under her shoulders to hold her tighter, to thrust harder. She answered by widening her legs and arching her back until her breasts were being chafed by his stiff tuxedo shirt pleats. He’d stared down at her curved neck, watching her tiny black ribbon bow tickle her throat with each surge. And when she cried out, he knew he’d given her pleasure. He’d given it and taken it, burned with it. Been branded by it.

To anyone else, the idea of sex on the ground in a park was probably crude and disrespectful. To him…to him there was nothing more meaningful.

Which was probably why he’d ruined it.

Lucas rounded the corner to his street now, whistling to the dog, whose tongue was lolling around happily. He frowned to himself, thinking back as he pulled the keys to the building from his pocket. Belinda had probably thought he’d say something wonderful or kind afterward, but waking out of the spell, the first thing he’d said was the worst thing he could have uttered: “You saved yourself for Kyle, didn’t you?”

Sometimes, he thought back and pictured himself saying about anything else. “Come with me to Massachusetts” or “I love you” might have been wise. No, his inherent jealousy of her choosing Kyle over him for years reared its ugly head and made him question the gift he’d been given.

She’d flinched like she’d been slapped. Then her dark eyes turned hard, angry. “In
my
mind,” she’d said, making sure every word would stab and rip him, her voice steady and clear. “It
was
Kyle.”

She rolled away, adjusting her clothes back in place. She refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his attempts at apology. He didn’t blame her. His attempts then were no better than they were now. In fact, they were probably worse.

“What if you’re pregnant?” he’d asked, finally getting her attention.

“Then I’ll get rid of it,” she’d replied, cold as a snake. That was the only thing he’d ever disliked about her. No one said things they should regret like Belinda did. She went right for a guy’s balls and smiled while she did it. “Go away, College Boy. Go to your smart school and your perfect, brilliant coeds. You got what you wanted.”

“Are you going to tell me if you are?” he’d asked, ignoring her venom.

But he hadn’t been able to ignore it all. She’d saved one spiteful word for last. “No.”

That word haunted him for years. Hell, it haunted him now. Made him break out in a sweat. Made him want to hate her as much as he loved her. But he never asked and she never said. Not when he came back from school. Not when Kyle got them reluctantly speaking again. Never, not once in twelve years had he ever asked. And she never told.

He arrived on his doorstep and found a crushed white box.

He stopped dead, but the pup sniffed and whined at it, shuffling it with his paw.

Anger flickered in Lucas’s mind. It felt like fire, a small flame that licked at the back of his brain. Crouching slowly, he lifted the lid and found what he expected. Pieces of lace…shredded. Sliced. Threads everywhere. So was the stain of coffee…all over the pieces. That’s when the flame turned into a conflagration.

His fists tightened around the leash. His jaw began to ache from pressure. His blood burned like acid as it raced past his temples.

He’d had it. Enough. Absolutely enough.

No more begging. No more asking permission. No more apologizing.

The pup started to whine again.

“Come on, dog.” Lucas tugged the leash and started down the stairs again. The dog didn’t want to come. He probably thought his master was in the mood to kill someone.

He was right.

Only decent people feel guilty, Belinda told herself while she tried to drown in her shower. Face to the hard, hot spray, she hoped the stinging impact would wash the sense of guilt away. The last thing anyone had called her for the past decade was
decent
. She thrived on being rude, heartless and flat-out bitchy when the occasion called for it. The tugs of conscience were harder to feel that way. Usually. But now, because of a box of scraps, the tugs of guilt were feeling more like whips.

It’s for his own good.

He’d move on. Find someone who would love him like he deserved. Love him like he needed. Someone at least
slightly
less wrecked than herself.

But being right and being guilt-free were apparently not mutually exclusive.

Angry, she turned off the water…and heard so loud a clank Michigan could have landed outside. She frowned at the handle, but then there was another crunching clank. Rising on her toes, she tried to look out the small window at the top of the stall, but could only see a piece of metal flying. What the hell was going on out there?

Then she heard the bark.

Eyes wide, she lowered herself from the window. Lucas. In her yard. While she was naked.

That sprang her into action more than anything, despite the fact that he was hucking around heavy metal like it was a discus tournament. She threw back the curtain, grabbing the towel waiting there on her way out. Not wanting to take any more time than necessary, she dried off with only a ragged pat-down. She was too busy trying to rustle up her temper to acknowledge her terror at being cornered. He had no right to be there uninvited. He had no right coming when he knew she didn’t want him there. He simply had no rights at all.

She stomped into a pair of coveralls, yanked on a worn pink tank top that had seen enough bleach to make it good for summer work and wrapped a bandana over her wet hair to keep it out of her face. By the time she had her work boots secure, she was fantasizing about introducing him to the steel toe. He probably didn’t hear her rumbling down the steps, but he damn sure heard her when she exited the bay doors to the open yard beyond with her hands on her hips and the fire of hell in her lungs.

“What the
fuck
do you think you’re doing?”

“You don’t want to be pushing my buttons right now, Belle,” he answered in typical growl mode, not bothering to look at her.

She scoffed, watching him pick up an abandoned sink from the back of the ancient Mazda flatbed she used for junking and take it to a pile of other midsized items. He was in cut-off gray sweat shorts and tennis shoes. His T-shirt was off, one end tucked into his back waistband, leaving all that warm honey skin open to her viewing pleasure. Mad or not, it
was
a pleasure to look at him, especially since he was already slick.

“You’re in
my
yard, Lonnigan. I can push any button I damn well please.”

He ignored her. He actually ignored her. A few pieces of pipe got thrown into the small pipe pile, making the puppy yelp as he hopped to avoid things being lobbed all around. He wasn’t in any danger, but she could tell by his darting eyes and tucked tail,
he
didn’t know that.